


Transported

by Mufasa108



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 17:26:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9248033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mufasa108/pseuds/Mufasa108
Summary: Ross' closing statements at the end of his trial got him into far more trouble than anyone was anticipating.





	1. Prologue

"I make no apology for my actions. In truth, I would do the same again."

Demelza felt her heart go cold as Ross finished his impassioned speech up in the witness box. She could not deny that his intensity and fervor had painted a very vivid image of the hardships of life in poverty. He no doubt was only seeking to inspire people with the truth of the matter. But how could he be so stupid? He'd killed himself, she was sure of it.

She'd never see him again. She'd never be able to tell him of their child. She'd never wake up in his arms, or hear the soft rumble of his voice as he told her of his day at the mine. He'd be gone, and she'd be a miner's daughter once more with a hole in her heart that she was sure would never be filled again as long as she lived.

She just barely registered him, awkwardly thanking the judge as he got down from the box and walked slowly back to his seat. A soft murmur surrounded her as the court waited for Justice Lister to begin his own final statements. Someone to her left leaned over and whispered to their partner, "He'll be hung for sure, there's no way the jury will find him innocent."

"Oh, Ross," she whispered to herself as the tears flowed freely down her face.

Demelza felt Verity grip her arm as Justice Lister began to speak. "Gentlemen of the jury, this man stands accused of riot, theft, and assaulting an officer of the Crown. Your duty is to decide, beyond a reasonable doubt, if the prisoner is guilty or innocent. You may find him guilty on all three charges - or any one of them. I find it is my duty to remind you that, in law, if you are satisfied that a riot took place, you only need to be satisfied that the prisoner was involved to find him guilty as a principal. The prisoner has attempted to find mitigating circumstances in the distress generally prevailing amongst the poor. You may find this an admirable sentiment, but you would be failing in your duty if you allowed it to influence your judgment in any way. Will you now consider your verdict?" There was a pause as he addressed the jury foreman directly. "You may retire if you wish."

Demelza watched Ross hang his head and run his hands nervously over his legs. She sensed that the full weight of what he had said had finally hit him as the judge instructed the jury to disregard his speech altogether. He should have better used the time to beg for his life. At least then he would be alive.

She continued to watch him as the jury got up and fled from the room and the rest of them stood to watch them go. She had never seen Ross look so pale or nervous in all the years she'd known him.

They sat again, Ross simply staring at the table in front of him before addressing his lawyer in hushed tones that she could not hear. Whatever the man had said in return had caused Ross to look over at her, a sad, slightly apologetic, look in his eyes. She tried to look confident and encouraging, but the combination of her own suffocating dread and anxiety along with the tears streaming down her face didn't paint a very convincing image.

It only took ten minutes for the jury to return again, but for Demelza and everyone else in the room, it had seemed like a month. They all filed back into their seats as the rest of the court stood while Justice Lister came back. Everyone in the gallery sat as they waited to hear what the jury had to say.

Demelza was having a hard time breathing; it felt like her heart had dropped through the floor. The blood hammered in her ears as she twisted the fabric of her skirt roughly in her hands, searching for some way to ground herself as the Clerk addressed the Foreman of the Jury.

"Gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?" He asked in rough Cornish accent.

The Foreman, looking slightly guilty, replied, "We have."

Ross's head snapped quickly in her direction, his gaze frantic, almost wild before he looked desperately over at the jury, waiting impatiently for their judgment. Demelza's emotions were sitting right in her throat, close to bursting forth in a strangled sob. She felt like she was going to vomit, or faint, or both.

"Do you find the prisoner guilty or not guilty?"

"We find him..." the foreman stopped and started again. "We find him not guilty of the charges of riot and assault upon an officer of the Crown, and guilty upon the charge of wrecking."

Complete silence took over the room. No one knew exactly what had just happened. This was not the verdict any of them were expecting. The silence hung in the air like a wave, and then, broke in a cacophony of noise. Someone in the back started to yell, demanding to know what that meant, others began to cheer, while still more began to boo and hiss. The clerks gavel hammered loudly.

"If there is any further disturbance," said Justice Lister, "the courtroom will be cleared and proceedings taken against offenders." He wore a sour look and gazed intently at Ross as the room around him fell into silence.

Demelza's eyes went back and forth between Ross and the Judge so quickly that she was likely to make herself sick. What did this mean? She thought to herself. Surely there would still be a punishment, wrecking was a serious crime. Could he still be sentenced to death, or would he just be sent to jail?

It was just then that she realized that she was on her feet, Verity pulling frantically on her arm to get her to sit back down. Demelza collapsed onto the bench, her eyes never leaving Ross.

"Oh, Verity. What does this mean? What's going to happen now?" She asked in a hoarse whisper.

"I don't know, my dear," Verity answered, her voice just as cracked and emotional as Demelza's.

"Ross Vinnor Poldark," said Justice Lister, his cool eyes surveying Ross. "You have been tried on three charges by a jury of your fellow countrymen and found not guilty on two of the three charges. It only remains for me to pass sentence." His eyes flicked around the room, examining the various dumbfounded faces surrounding him before landing on Demelza for a moment. He addressed the room at large, his eyes tracking back to Ross. "However, I think I can speak for all here when I say that the verdict was an unexpected one. One wonders how the prisoner could be found innocent of riot, but guilty of wrecking, when, as he says, the traditions of the county are taken into account. Due to the unorthodox nature of this ruling there will be a sentencing hearing that will take place after a short recess. During which time, I expect both the defense and the prosecution to construct an oral statement. Jurors, I thank you for your service, you are dismissed. Court will reconvene at 4 o'clock. Bailiff, I want the courtroom cleared, the counselors may use the upstairs meeting hall for deliberation. The defendant will go with his counselor to help build his plea."

Demelza was in shock, yet a small glimmer of hope was growing inside her. If they could somehow convince the Judge, Ross may be spared from the worst and made only to suffer a stint in jail or transportation. The thought of either was enough to chill her blood, but at least she wouldn't see him hang.

Ross was staring at the judge in disbelief before his head quickly snapped in her direction. The intensity in his eyes was more telling to Demelza than anything he had done that day. He was confused, desperate, and perhaps a little afraid, but above all Demelza could see the same hope that was growing in her chest twinkling back at her from her husband's dark, soulful eyes.

Justice Lister stood and the rest of the room followed suit. He began to exit the stand when he turned, his eyes fixed on Demelza with a calculating gaze. Slowly, his eyes strayed to the Bailiff waiting patiently by the door, "Please inform Justice Jewell his services will be required. It is unlikely I will see to all my cases today."

And with that he left, his crimson robes sweeping out behind him as he climbed the stairs. Demelza looked around her as the rest of the courtroom began to empty. No one was paying her any mind, Verity was wiping her eyes and nose with a crisp white handkerchief, the jury members to her right were whispering to each other, and a sickly-looking man, dressed all in black, had made his way from the gallery and was speaking hurriedly to the prosecutor and his assistant. Following this little man's lead she practically ran from her spot towards Ross.

He saw her coming and turned just in time to catch her as she hurtled into him. "Ross!" she sobbed, wrapping her arms tightly around him, her fingers clutching tightly to his coat.

"Shh, my love," he whispered, his own arms encircling her in a vice like grip. Turning his head, he pressed kisses into her hair as the clung to each other for dear life.

"Mr. Poldark," A voice said from behind them. They separated, but just enough to look at Ross' counsel, Mr. Clymer, as he addressed them with a furrowed brow and haggard look. "I do not wish to intrude, but there isn't much time. We must go upstairs and begin planning our statement."

"Can my wife come?" Ross asked, his fingers slightly digging into Demelza's waist. Her own hands clutched at his lapels, her knuckles white with the intensity of her grip.

"I'm afraid not." Claymer's tone was hurried, yet sympathetic. He did not wish to come between what could possibly be the precious last moments between husband and wife. "This is very unorthodox. Normally you would be transferred back to the prison, but seeing as we have less than an hour Mr. Poldark, I have been informed that we will be confined under lock and key until the hearing is due to start."

Ross' sharp eyes turned back to Demelza, his face full of more emotion than she'd seen in quite some time. He let go of her waist, his hands coming up to cup her cheeks as he stared deeply into her eyes. "I love you, Demelza. I know I do not say it nearly enough, but I must let you know before it is too late. You are my heart, my soul, my everything, and I thank God every day that I was fortunate enough to have met you."

His lips crashed down on her own, kissing her with so much passion and love that it almost made her dizzy. One hand moved around to the back of her head, his fingers twining themselves in the fiery curls that had escaped from updo she had managed to corral her hair into. She responded in kind, fueling the kiss with all her own love and devotion.

Had this been any other situation, they might have realized how indecent they looked, all wrapped up in each other like they were. But all either one could think, or comprehend, was that this may be the very last time they would be able hold each other.

Ross pulled back, his lips going instantly to her forehead as he closed his eyes to savor this last blissful moment. Quickly, he leaned back, his eyes roving the room frantically.

"Francis!" he yelled. Francis' eyes shot up, his wide blue gaze revealing his shock at being addressed. He quickly made his way back towards them, leaving Elizabeth, Dwight and Verity standing alone at the door.

"You told me once you had some money put by, is that correct?" Ross continued, staring at his cousin imploringly.

"Yes, some six hundred pounds." He seemed confused by the question but was more than glad that Ross was voluntarily speaking to him before it was too late.

"Look after her." The statement was somewhere between an order and a request, yet the impassioned look on Ross' face washed away any ambiguity. Francis hesitated, his eyes traveling between Ross and Demelza, who looked just as shocked as he felt. "I know we have had our differences in the past, but remember what she did for you and your family, and what we lost in return. My daughter died in your son's place. If you will not do it out of familial duty, then do it as a god damned recompense!"

"Ross," Demelza chastised, her hands going out to sooth the harshness of her tone.

"Yes, of course, Ross. You don't even need to ask." Francis answered firmly, his jaw setting in a determined way that Demelza thought made the cousins look more similar than ever before. "Demelza is family, and we Poldark's do not abandon family."

Ross stared him down, his dark eyes flashing in the dull light of the courtroom. "No," Ross replied after a beat, his eyes drifting over his cousin's shoulder to where Elizabeth and Verity continued to stand by the exit, "In the long run, we Poldark's do not abandon family. You will do well to remember that, Francis."

This struck a chord with the fair Poldark and he looked slowly between his cousin, the man he had betrayed, his cousin in law, who had risked her health and given up so much for his family, his wife, the beautiful, strong woman whom he knew he did not deserve, and finally landing on his sister, whom he had unfairly faulted for falling in love with a man he knew he had judged too harshly. Ross let go of his wife momentarily, reaching a hand out towards Francis, a silent signal that he was willing to make amends. They clasped hands tightly, Francis nodding once before letting go and beginning to back away.

"Go with him, Demelza," Ross' eyes were soft as he turned back to his wife, his fingers gently brushing wisps of flaming hair off her emotionally drawn, yet no less beautiful, face. "And eat something, you look dead on your feet."

She managed to roll her eyes at him, "I misdoubt I'll be able to keep anythin' down. Truly Ross, how am I meant to eat at a time like this?"

Ross chuckled bitterly, his attempts at keeping his mood light failing miserably. "At least try, my love."

Demelza nodded, stretching up on her tiptoes to kiss him quickly before Mr. Claymer stepped up and almost forcibly separated them. "We must go Mr. Poldark. There is little time."

"I love you, Ross. Come home," Demelza said hurriedly as she felt Francis clasp her shoulder to prevent her from moving after Ross as he was led away.

"I love you too," he called back before the door was closed on him.

Demelza turned around to find that Francis had been joined by the rest of their motley crew of Poldark's, Blamey's and Enys' who had all moved forward after Ross had left.

"It will be all right, my dear. Ross will be fine," Elizabeth said, her voice strained somewhat. Demelza nodded, her gaze shifting back towards the door her husband had just disappeared behind. Somehow, she very much doubted he would be.

* * *

"Captain Ross Poldark," Justice Lister called from his stand. "You are a very popular man, with some very powerful friends."

The Justice's eyes were piercing, his hands clasped tightly in front of him as he stared down at the man seated before him. Eyes still on Ross, he held out his hand and was passed a paper by a man sitting to his left.

"During our recess my chambers were bombarded with countless people who seemed to know best what punishment you deserve for the crime of wrecking. I met with none of them, seeing as I had my own deliberations to think over, yet I have been informed that more than two thirds of them were on your side." He perused the paper in front of him before handing the sheet back to the man and waving him down towards the floor. "Since these proceedings are already highly irregular I see no need to change tact now. Mr. Poldark, you are no doubt aware that wrecking is an offense that is punishable by death under what has been so kindly dubbed the Bloody Code. Currently, I am willing to follow the word of the law and pass such a sentence."

There was a collective gasp. Demelza looked anxiously between Ross, who was staring stoically ahead, and Justice Lister, who's hawk-like eyes seemed to see more than he was letting on.

"However," he began slowly, "because you have a substantial amount of support, there is clearly some circumstance concerning your character that I am not willing to overlook. I will hear from the counselors, and then from several of the names from my list which I have so kindly been provided with. From there I will make my final judgment."

"Highly irregular," whispered Mr. Claymer to Ross. "Yet we must use it to our advantage."

Ross nodded, his eyes flicking around the room, trying to think of who would be willing to speak to his good character. Were it any other circumstance, it would have warmed his heart when so many names came to mind.

"Mr. Bull," Justice Lister continued. "In brief, if you please. What sentencing do you advise?"

The tall and lanky counselor for the prosecution stood, his white wig firmly fixed atop his head without a single strand awry. "The Crown would advise the maximum sentence, if it pleases the court. We believe it would be a detriment to society, nay a danger even, if the sentence were to be anything less."

"How so?" Justice Lister's eyes narrowed, the cogs visibly turning in his head as he processed all he was hearing into a logical outcome.

"The accused has a history of jailbreaking, your honor. A one Jim Carter was taken from Bodmin Jail by Mr. Poldark, some ten days before the completion of his sentence. Who is to say he would not do the same for himself if the right opportunity presented itself. Barring that, your honor, the accused seems to have a bit of a violent temper. Just days after his illegal activities regarding Mr. Carter, Mr. Poldark beat Mr. Matthew Sanson after an unhappy gambling incident."

"Convicts often have tempers, Mr. Bull, what makes the accused any different?"

"If it pleases the court, accusations of Mr. Sanson's murder were leveled against Mr. Poldark after Mr. Sanson's body was found on the beach following the wreck."

"Did these accusations ever go to trial?" the Justice asked. Ross' eyes flicked over to where George sat, watching his enemies his smug mouth lifting up a fraction.

"No, your honor. Insufficient evidence." Mr. Bull continued.

"Do you have a counter argument to Mr. Bulls claims that your client should have been tried for murder, Mr. Claymer?" the Judge's hawk like eyes moved from one lawyer to the next as Ross's counsel stood, his head held high with determination.

"Coroner reports show that there was evidence enough that Mr. Sanson died well before his body reached the shore. If anyone should be blamed for his death it should be the ocean itself." There was a smattering of laughter at this and Mr. Claymer sat back down, allowing his opponent to finish his argument.

"Anything else to add Mr. Bull?"

"Yes, your honor, I will only remind the court of the accused's past dealings with the law. In the past, he has been accused of smuggling, brawling, assault on a customs official, the jail breaking of Mr. Carter and now leading in the plundering of a ship full of very valuable goods. It is clear that he has no regard for the laws which bind our country together, indeed he seems to show a complete lack of sense alongside some highly dangerous Jacobean sympathies that will no doubt lead this country to ruin, just like it did France!" As Mr. Bull spoke, he became increasingly agitated, punctuating his last sentence with a bang of his fist onto the table in front of him. "He is a leader of his community, an employer of many families who were down at the beach that day. His responsibility was to lead these poor, destitute, people down a good, law abiding, and God fearing path. Instead, he riles them up and sets them loose on a group of helpless survivors, all the while encouraging them to take what was not rightly theirs. He may not have been found guilty of riot, yet he neglected his duty when not putting an end to whatever violence he could."

There was complete silence as Justice Lister contemplated what was just said. Nodding slightly to himself, he waved his hand almost nonchalantly in the direction of Ross and Mr. Claymer. "And what sentence do you propose, Mr. Claymer?"

"We propose a Jail stint of no more than 6 years, or transportation to the Australian colonies, lasting no more than 4 years." His voice was determined, yet something in the way his hands shook indicated, at least to Ross, that he was asking for a lot.

If the court had been silent before, it was nothing as compared to now. No one dared speak, or even breath, as the Honorable Judge stared daggers at the young lawyer. "You do realize, Mr. Claymer, that the any instance of transportation lasting less than 7 years is highly unusual? Why should I invite any further nonconformity into this case by allowing such a lenient sentence?"

"Your honor, I believe you will see throughout your questioning of the names you have listed that Captain Ross Poldark is a very well respected man among all classes. He owns a business that employs a large number of people, he works closely and is very friendly with his neighbors, he has a wife, and he is a gentleman from an ancient family that goes back centuries into the history of the county. I believe you will find that there are many aspects of life in the parishes of Grambler, Sawel and Truro that only operate smoothly with Poldark involvement. To send him away for any longer than this would be asking for catastrophe." It was somewhat surprising to Ross how confident his lawyer seemed and took it as a good sign. Yet, it seemed to him that his case was entirely based on sentimentality, which did not seem like something Justice Lister would be known for taking into account.

"We shall see if what you claim is true, Mr. Claymer." Justice Lister looked over to his clerk, who stood, looking down at the paper in front of him.

"The Court calls Captain Henshawe to the stand."

Both Demelza and Ross turned as Captain Henshawe stood from his place deep in the gallery and made his way forward. He took the stand, looking somewhat shocked at being asked to speak. Ross gave him an encouraging nod before their attentions were once again recaptured by Justice Lister.

"Captain Henshawe, I know you have had little time to prepare for this questioning so think of this more as a personal curiosity of mine and just answer my questions to the best of your ability. What is your relation to Captain Poldark?"

"I work as Mine Captain at Mr. Poldark's mine, Wheal Leisure, your honor," Henshawe answered calmly and evenly.

"And how many men does Mr. Poldark employ at his mine?"

"Near on a hundred. We've taken on as many as we could since the closure of Grambler some 12 months gone. It is safe to say that Wheal Leisure is the only profitable mine for ten miles round."

"In your professional opinion, Mr. Henshawe, how long do you believe this venture will remain profitable if Mr. Poldark were to no longer be around for an extended period of time?" Justice Lister was leaning forward, his arms bracing him on his high table.

"Not very long, your honor. Mr. Poldark prefers to put all of his personal profit back into the mine. In truth, it is much a part of what keeps us going."

"Could no one take his place and do the same?"

"Not so well as he does."

"Thank you, Captain Henshawe. You may step down." There was a smattering of hushed whispers as Henshawe made his way down from the stand. As he passed, Demelza whispered a hushed 'thank you' not wanting to draw any attention to herself.

"The Court calls Thomas Harry to the stand," the clerk called out over the hushed voices and a big man in a blue coat with a red beard stood. As he passed the sickly-looking man, Tankard, he nodded and smiled before taking the witness stand.

"Mr. Harry, what is your relation to Captain Poldark?" Justice Lister asked, seemingly following the same line of questioning he had used on Henshawe.

"No direct relation, your honor. I work in private security and he and my master do feud." He stood with his arms crossed across his chest, his arms bulging in a very intimidating way.

"Who is it you do security for?"

"Wouldn't be private if I told ye' sir," he answered, earning himself a chorus of laughter from his supporters.

"I presume you have some evidence as to why the accused should be put to death then?"

"Yes, sir, one day not long after the wreck, I ran into Mr. Poldark and overheard him a tellin' another man about the hefty sum he did make from sellin' all the goods what he stole."

"And who did he say this too?"

"Why Nic Vigus sir."

"Mr. Vigus?" Justice Lister called out, his sharp eyes searching for the man who had spoken in court against Ross earlier that day. Nic stood, his hat twisted in his hands. "Is this statement true, sir?"

Nic looked around, both Ross and Demelza were looking at him. Ross' eyes were blank, displaying none of the anger he was feeling, yet Demelza's face was ripe with fury as she stared down the sniveling, cowardly, miner.

"Yes sir, tis true sir. Cap'n Poldark did tell me of all the goods he was able to sell from the wreck."

Justice Lister nodded, actively ignoring the shouts of descent that rose at Nic's statement, including the one from the Defense council. "Thank you, Mr. Harry. You may sit down."

The hearing continued on like this for a while. People were called up in Ross' defense, each one giving a heartfelt depiction of Ross and his kind and responsible actions for the county. It was as Justice Lister had said, he had people backing him from every corner of society. Ray Penvenen first spoke, arguing more for the sake of the Poldark house than for the sake of Ross himself. Then Zacky Martin, who described how Ross was more than just an employer and master, but a friend to many of the people under his charge, helping them whenever he could. After that Harry Blewitt painted a vivid image of how Ross had saved him from debtor's prison by putting his own finances at risk and giving him a loan of 250 pounds. These and ten more besides spoke, making Ross into some sort of folk hero, able to wander through society at will, always willing to lend a helping hand.

Of course, there were those who argued just as fervently for his hanging, successfully poking holes into the shining defense his friends were spinning around him. The low points came when George's Lawyer, Tankard, described Ross' finances in incredibly harsh, albeit accurate, detail, effectively erasing any notion of Ross' financial responsibility. While this was a critical blow to their case, it was nowhere near as deadly as the blow they received when Demelza's father was allowed to take the stand. From his pulpit, Mr. Carne was able to build on his statements from earlier, painting Ross as a vicious fiend who feared neither God nor man, and took whatever he pleased, from goods not belonging to himself to the chastity of a sweet and innocent child.

"My daughter has already fallen low by his hand!" He yelled, holding up the Bible to illustrate his point. "He did take her from my home at the tender age of fourteen, to live in sin and misery. Tis no wonder their child did die! She was no doubt the spawn of Satan himself, called home to the fiery inferno below! Twas what ye deserved daughter!"

Ross saw red. His hands clenched in fists atop the table, it was all he could do not to lunge at the man and beat him to a pulp in a similar way to what he had done all those years ago. How dare he insult Demelza like that? There were many things Ross could stand, but an insult to his wife was not one of them. She deserved none of this.

"Thank you, Mr. Carne. You may step down." Justice Lister said quickly, cutting him off before he could continue on his tirade.

The proceedings continued for some time more as night slowly fell outside. The candles were just being lit as silence fell and the judge sat, slowly tapping out a rhythm on the podium in front of him that could be heard echoing through all of the courtroom. After a long, agonizing moment he sighed, straightening up and looking down, first at Ross, then out at the rest of the room.

"I will be calling one more person up to the stand for it doesn't seem fair to proceed to sentencing unless we have heard from the person who no doubt knows the accused best and to hear her response towards the various accusations made against her today." His keen gaze slowly slid over to where Demelza sat, her hands twisting sharply in the fabric of her skirt. Her eyes were firmly fixed on her husband, trying as hard as she could to memorize every single aspect of him. "Mistress Poldark, will you please take the stand?"

Demelza's eyes snapped away from Ross as his snapped towards her. She gave a small gasp of disbelief, her brows furrowing with confusion, neither she nor anyone else in the room expected that. In fact, to the casual observer, this was a very strange case indeed. Sentencings were hardly ever given this much deliberation and women were hardly ever allowed to speak in the courtroom.

Slowly, she rose to her feet, her eyes back on Ross, who was trying to smile encouragingly at her. She wiped her eyes fervently with the back of her hands, refusing to look like a weak, simpering lady. Instead she conjured the fierce, head strong, miner's daughter as she prepared to argue for the man she loved. Reaching the stand, she looked back at Ross, adding to her strength through the determined and supportive nod he gave her, before looking up at Justice Lister, staring him straight in the eye.

"Mistress Poldark, though I doubt there isn't a single person in the room who hasn't already guessed, please indulge us and inform the court what your relationship is with the accused." Justice Lister met Demelza's stare head on, refusing to back down.

"I'm his wife, your honor," she answered simply.

"Your father, Mr. Carne, has made some substantial claims regarding your marriage. Is there any truth to your father's words, or anything you would like cleared up before the court?"

"Oh yes, sir," she scoffed, a bitter smile spreading across her face. "What my father don't tell you is why I left home in the first place. My mother died when I was eight years old. I have six younger brothers and had to raise them myself from that tender age. This was, of course, made all the more difficult by the fact that my father beat me every day of my life and drank away all his earnin's. He may have stood before the court a God fearin' man, but I tell you he wasn't so back then. Ross didn't steal me away from my family, I ran away when I could bear it no longer."

"Your father beat you?" Justice Lister's habit of scrutinizing the scene came in very handy as a movement from the corner of his eye indicated that Tom Carne was growing red in the face, evidently not at all pleased with what his daughter was saying. This was enough evidence for him that what Demelza said was the truth, at least in part. "And what of the other accusation your father made against your husband? Did the accused ever force himself upon you?"

Demelza knew what she wanted to say, that if anything she forced herself on him, but she knew this was not the occasion for such a public advertisement of their relationship. "Nothing happened between my husband and I until we were married."

"Ye were livin' in sin, daughter!" Came her father's enraged voice as he stood up and shook his Bible at her. "Confess, and live a pure life."

"I have nothin' to confess, father," she replied coolly, her clenched fists the only indicator that this outburst had any ill effect on her. "As far as I'm concerned, it is you who needs to be confessin'."

"Hear, hear!" yelled someone from the bowels of the gallery, too far off to be identified properly.

"Have Mr. Carne taken from the court," Justice Lister commanded, his eyes growing sharper and colder than ever.

There was a brief pause as Demelza's father was escorted from the hall, yelling and damning every last one of them all the way. Demelza watched him go, finally feeling as if he were walking out of her life forever. She knew it was likely not true, but at least she finally felt free of the emotional burden that had always caused her to carry. As the door banged close, her eyes found Ross. He smiled wistfully before she turned back to the judge, determined to do and say all she could to get him off.

"Your daughter, Mistress Poldark, how old was she when she passed?"

Somehow, Demelza managed to retain her composure as she answered. "Julia was not yet two when she died of the putrid throat."

"And listening to all that has been said here today, can you say that the accused acts with the same conduct within the confines of his own home?"

"Yes, your honor. Ross works tirelessly to make sure that the mine prospers, always putting others happiness and prosperity above his own."

Justice Lister nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly. "A noble sentiment no doubt. But what of your own happiness?"

Demelza paused, she was losing her hold on her emotions slightly. But she closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and looked back up at the judge. "A lack of money doesn't bother me, your honor. As you can see, I'm of mining stock and have no need of fancy things. I am happy in my marriage. I love my husband. Ross is a good man, and when I say he do put others before himself, I count myself as one of those others."

There was silence following this. Everyone knew that this case was finally drawing to a close and no one could say what the Judge was currently thinking. He looked between Ross and Demelza, summing up some aspect of the case that only he would be privy to. His hands were clasped together under his chin as he thought. Carefully, he lay them out on the table, turning for the final time towards Demelza.

"Is there anything else you would like the court to know that would help us in our decision on your husbands sentencing, Mistress Poldark?"

This question seemed to be what did it for Demelza. The blood drained from her and she looked as though she were about to faint. She seemingly smoothed down the front of her jacket as her eyes went to her feet. Tears began to gather again as she began to make her last desperate plea. "Ross raised me up from nothin', not only by marryin' me into a great family, but by showing me and our child more devotion than I have ever experienced in my life." She looked up, her hands grasping the railing in front of her. "Ross was - is, an amazing father, and Julia was a happy baby. Which is why the thought of him not being around to watch his next child grow up, or even be born, do pain me all the more."

Whispers began to break out as the clever ones in the room caught on to what she was saying. Demelza kept her eyes firmly fixed on the wall opposite her, both in an effort to stave off tears and so that she didn't have to see the look on Ross' face. She knew he wouldn't appreciate this announcement being made so publicly, and she wished she could do it in any other way. But if it saved his life, then she had no other choice.

Justice Lister looked shocked for the first time that day. "Are you saying you are with child, Mistress Poldark?"

"Yes," her voice was choked with tears. There was a harsh scrape of chair legs as Ross stood violently. He didn't dare move, just stared at his wife desperately. She looked up at him then, the anguish on her face causing him to ache to have her in his arms, to comfort her.

"I take it you did not know of this, Mr. Poldark?" Justice Lister asked.

"No," he replied quietly, sinking back into his chair as he remembered himself, his eyes never leaving Demelza.

"Well," the judge narrowed his eyes more than he had done all day as he contemplated this new piece of information. "Thank you, Mistress Poldark. You may sit down."

Demelza nodded once before shakily making her way back across the floor towards her seat. As she passed, Ross reached out and grabbed her hand, bringing it to his lips to press a quick kiss to it before releasing her again and allowing her to move away. Once seated in between Verity and Dwight she brought the same hand up to her face, pressing the back of it to her mouth to silence the sobs that were beginning to form in her throat.

People began to murmur as the Judge paused to create his mental summary of the case. Verity wrapped an arm around Demelza, trying to sooth her despite the fact that tears were streaming down her own face. She didn't say anything, knowing full well that nothing she could say would make Demelza feel any differently. Ross was looking over at them, seemingly close to tears himself. Quickly, he turned away, leaning in to speak closely with his counselor.

"Is there anything else we can do?" he asked desperately.

"We may be able to appeal, yet I doubt he would be willing to hear it. He's already spent so much time on this case. If it were any other judge, Mr. Poldark." Claymer looked at Ross, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Any other judge and I have no doubt that the court would have a lenient view considering all the evidence given on your behalf. But Justice Lister is a mystery to me. The way I see it could still go either way."

Moments later, the gavel sounded and quiet was called in the courtroom. Justice Lister rubbed his head tiredly, his eyes closed and his face scrunched with thought. Eventually, he lowered his hand and leaned back in his chair to survey the room. He looked at Ross for a long time, a muscle ticking tightly in his jaw. After what seemed like ages he sat forward, his hands clasped tightly on the table in front of him.

"This trial," he began, looking directly at Ross, "has been entirely ridiculous. Never in my considerable career as a Judge have a seen a greater mockery of our court system. I am ashamed to say that I played into this mockery and allowed it to continue thus. Nevertheless, I have come to my decision."

Not for the first time that day Demelza felt like she was going to throw up. She continued to press her hand to her mouth, her lips touching the same spot that Ross' had. Her other hand splayed itself out over her abdomen, both for the purpose of easing her aching stomach and for the sake of connecting her to her child. The only piece of Ross she may have left after today.

"I am not a sentimental man by nature, Mr. Poldark," Justice Lister looked more severe than he had all day. His eyes sharper and more deadly than ever, "but the admiration you seem to stir up among so many has caused me to go against my better judgment. I am prepared to take Mr. Claymer's plea of four years transportation to the Australian Colonies."

A great roar went up around the courtroom as everyone began to shout their opinions at once. Demelza's tears turned to ones of joy as a large, radiant smile broke out across her face. She began to laugh in disbelief as Verity hugged her violently. Ross wasn't going to be hanged. He would come home. Just as he promised. Her eyes met his and the look of relief on his face made her tears fall all the more quickly.

She wanted to get up and run to him but the banging of the gavel rooted her to her seat.

"Order! Order in the court!" Yelled the clerk, banging the gavel harshly on the table in front of him. Silence fell slowly until eventually murmurs were all that was left of the cacophony.

"Mr. Poldark, I have been informed that there is a fleet leaving from Portsmouth for Australia in four days time. You will be transported there over the course of the next three days starting tonight and you will board that ship, making no attempt to return until such time as your sentence of four years has run its course. If in that time, you have behaved admirably and have given us no cause to review your case, I am willing to give a grant of absolute pardon, clearing your name under the condition that once you return, your finances will be put into the hands of a trustee until the court deems you worthy of regaining that control. Do you consent to this condition?" Justice Lister asked, seeming almost bored, his hand continuing to rub lazily across his forehead.

"Yes, your honor," Ross replied quickly and evenly.

"Very well. Bailiff, have Mr. Poldark taken back to his cell, he is to be transferred to Falmouth in the morning." With that, the Judge stood and left the courtroom. And chaos descended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge fan of the show and the books, so this has been an absolute treat to write. Beyond that I'm a huge history nerd so it pains me to say that I am going to be taking some historical liberties and tweaking some events ever so slightly to make them work with my story... (gasp!)
> 
> Before the 1780's convicts were usually transported to the American colonies, after the revolution, however that was no longer an option. Instead, they were sent to the newly discovered/founded Australian colonies, which were known as the New South Wales colonies (I think), starting in 1788. The second group of prisoners to arrive, coming on the aptly named Second Fleet, set out from England on January 19th, 1790. But the trial doesn't take place until summer if we're following the right time line, so for continuity's sake I'mma push that departure date back a few months and the trial forward a few months...
> 
> This is going to be multi-chapter, probably pretty long considering I have no idea how it's going to end at this point... And I'm hoping to update once a week, but we'll see how well that works out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An emotional reunion after years apart.

**September 12th, 1794**

It was windy. The pale afternoon sky was shredded with clouds. The road, grown dustier and more uneven in the last hour, was scattered with blown and rustling leaves.

There were five people in the coach; a stoutly built young man with a wide-open face and a shiny silk suit, his small pinched face wife, their remarkably well behaved daughter of about four, and two other passengers: an older man of middling height and more than middling weight who had been asleep since entering the coach, and the other a tall man of dark countenance with a dramatic scar running down the left side of his face. This man wore a dark jacket and waistcoat that fit him well enough, though obviously hadn't been tailored for him, russet trousers, and riding boots, both of which seemed incredibly new, not having a scratch or stain on them.

He currently wore a feigned smile as the stout man continued to talk, not having stopped talking since entering the coach at the last stop.

"As you know, my father is a huge admirer of yours, Captain Poldark. Always says you have more spunk in you than a newborn colt," John Treneglos said in a nasally, slightly too high pitched voice.

"I admire your father greatly as well," Ross answered. He was strangely aware that his life was running in similar patterns. More than ten years ago, he had traveled back from London after returning from the American War in just the same way. And with much the same company. On that journey, Ruth Treneglos, though back then she had been simply Ruth Teague, had also been a passenger. This time she sat with much the same haughty expression, her eyes scrutinizing the man sitting in front of her.

"And, of course, he is a great admirer of your wife. As we all are." John continued, obliviously unaware that he had been wearing down the patience of his companion for some time now. "Why, only this Christmas he made a gift of one of our new calves to Mistress Poldark. As a neighborly gesture, of course."

"Of course," Ross replied with a tight-lipped smile.

"And does your wife know of your arrival home, Captain Poldark?" Mrs. Treneglos asked with her usual arrogant tone.

"Not to my knowledge," Ross clipped. He remembered vividly that Mrs. Treneglos was not a fan of Demelza and he was not keen on hearing any unkind words towards his wife.

They were not more than fifteen minutes out from Truro and Ross was growing anxious, his fist clenching and unclenching atop his knee.

"Well, it is probably no inconvenience to her, she is most likely at home. We hardly ever see her about, do we, John?" Mrs. Treneglos continued, feigning helpfulness. "But of course, she still gets visitors. John visits sometimes, so does Sir Hugh Bodrugan, and your old comrade from your soldiering days, Captain McNeil."

Ross raised his eyebrows at her, obviously, she was trying to insinuate something about his wife's conduct in his absence.

"Indeed," he replied simply, looking down his nose at the vile young woman before him with thinly veiled disdain.

The road was deeply rutted by years of travel, and the coach jolted and swayed dangerously, causing the previously silent little girl to giggle and clutch happily to her mother's skirts. Ross smiled at her, bittersweet memories of his own little girl dancing through his mind.

They reached the bottom of a hill just outside of Truro and the man beside the driver blew a blast on his horn as they turned into town. The man beside Ross awoke with a great snort, his dewy eyes looking blurredly out the window. Evidently, he had ascertained this wasn't his stop and promptly leant over and fell asleep again.

There were a few people bustling about the shops as they drove through town, bumping and swaying through the mud on this particularly nasty day. With a great deal of effort, they turned through the sharp corners and narrow streets before pulling up with tremendous fanfare in front of the Red Lion Inn.

In the bustle that followed, the Treneglos' got out first, followed swiftly by Ross, who was beyond anxious to be home well before dark.

"My Father is meeting us at the Pasco's for dinner. You'll join us?" John asked as Ross was passed a large canvas rucksack from atop the coach.

"I would not wish to intrude and I really must be getting home to my wife. Four years is a long time to be away from one's home and hearth," Ross did not look at them as he replied, slinging the sack over his shoulder. "But thank you for the offer. Say hello to your father and the Pasco's for me. It's been a pleasure, sir, madam."

He tipped his tricorn hat in farewell before entering the inn.

All noise faded to silence as he stepped through the door and the occupants saw who it was. At first, he ignored this, assuming the scandal of his trial had yet to have died out, searching around instead for the landlord so that he may rent a horse. Eventually, the silence became deafening and he cast his eyes about the small tap room for someone to explain what was going on.

"Ross? Captain Poldark, sir?" A voice behind him asked.

"Paul!" he exclaimed, walking briskly towards his friend as a large smile spread across his face.

"My ivers! Tis' you! You're alive!" Paul clapped Ross on the shoulder, staring up in wonder at his friend. "We thought you dead!"

The grin slowly slipped from Ross' face, replaced by a look somewhere in between annoyance and shock. "Again? I tell you, my life does seem to repeat itself."

The room filled with noise again after the initial shock, though there were plenty of people still looking at the man who was now twice back from the dead.

"There's been no word of you for closin' on two years now. And yer' sentence had been over some four months with no indication that you'd been sent home. We'd all given up hope."

"All of you?" he asked, practically dismayed. He had sent letters and was assured that the people back home were receiving them. "So my wife? My family? They all think I'm dead? Again?"

Paul chuckled awkwardly despite the situation, "I don't think Mistress Poldark ever did believe it. At least she bade us make no mention of it around your son, sayin' she wasn't goin' to be tellin him until we knew for sure."

Ross contemplated this. Of course, it wouldn't be like Demelza to ever give up hope, but the thought that she had spent the past two years thinking that he was dead lit a new pang of anxiety inside him. "You wouldn't happen to know where the landlord is? Apparently, I have to get to Nampara as soon as possible."

Paul nodded before informing Ross that he had seen the landlord enter the stables. Ross patted his friend heartily on the shoulders, assuring him that they would see each other soon before he headed out the back and towards the stables.

"Mr. Foster?" Ross called to get the large man's attention. "Have you a horse for hire?"

"Captain Poldark! Back from the dead again I see," the man answered, not moving from his spot up against the wall by the door to one of the stalls.

"So it seems," Ross' bitter smile and sardonic tone seemingly spurring the man into action. He pushed off the wall, rubbing the end of his long nose.

"Well, we have a gelding that was left here about a week back, held as collateral for a debt. I doubt there will be any objection in my loaning him out, especially to you, Captain. Shall I have him saddled now?"

"If you would be so kind." Ross pulled out his money purse, dumping the rest of its contents into the man's outstretched hand. Nodding and counting the contents Foster called to the stable boy to have the gelding saddled.

Within five minutes Ross was astride a tall yet sturdy dappled gray horse, his bag secured tightly to the back of the saddle. The horse was remarkably well trained, with a mild temperament, and answered with the slightest command. Though a little underworked and rambunctious for sensing his rider's anxiety, Ross was able to see that this was a fine beast.

"I am indebted to you, Foster," Ross called over his shoulder as he steered the horse from the courtyard.

He was able to keep himself in check until they reached the outskirts of town where he spurred the horse into a fast-paced trot, his anxiety to get home coupling with his nervous energy at the prospect of seeing his wife and son.

* * *

 

It had been a bad day and Demelza was exhausted as she descended the stairs. Jeremy had been fussy since early morning, first refusing to eat his breakfast then spending the rest of the day running around pulling on Garrick and screaming bloody murder whenever anyone tried to stop him. It had taken Demelza nearly an hour to put him down for his afternoon nap, almost exhausting her patients and repertoire of songs in the process.

In the foyer, Demelza almost ran into Prudie as she came out of the Library. "Judas!" she cried, putting a hand up to her chest and chuckling slightly. "You gave me a fright!"

"Sorry, maid," Prudie replied, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Been in the rum again?" Demelza asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Just a taste," Prudie's signature sour scowl came back and Demelza laughed slightly. "Twas all the young masters screamin' and yellin' what drove me to it. Took the edge off it did."

"No doubt. Have Jud and Drake come back from the field yet? Or Sam from the mine?"

"Nay, not since midday. I misdoubt that lazy scat about is being any help at all, probably sleepin' in the hay while Mr. Carne do all the work."

"I don't doubt you're right, Prudie." Demelza sighed, smoothing down her apron. Her brothers had come from Illogan looking for work in February and had been a tremendous help. Samuel, the second oldest of her six brothers had been given a position at Wheal Leisure and served as her eyes and ears there alongside Henshawe. Whereas Drake, the youngest, had been employed as a farm hand in exchange for her letting Sam and he to live in Reath Cottage without rent.

"Will you go and stir the stew then see to the milkin'?" Demelza asked, already knowing that there would be plenty of grumbling on Prudie's part. Indeed, Prudie's sour face sharpened as she made her way towards the kitchen, her complaints echoing through the hall.

Demelza went into the Library, her face growing melancholic as she looked around at all of the things she couldn't bear to part with, all of the things that reminded her of Ross. Slowly, she made her way around the room, her fingers ghosting over all the memories and feelings she had been avoiding for a very long time and was content with continuing to avoid. She ran her hand gently over the chest inside which Ross had stored all his father's things he could not bear to part with and his own belongings he had brought back from America. His uniform, the various souvenirs and letters, a few hair ribbons that she suspected belonged to his mother, some old mining samples, various odds and ends of a house well lived in. One night, in a fit of heartache, she had emptied this chest of memories and had found a small silver ring with a small, thinly sketched, "E" inscribed into it. He had worn it on his little finger in the early days of her time working for him but had taken it off some time ago. She tried to recall exactly when, before their wedding certainly. But for a significant while after Elizabeth's decision to marry Francis this ring had served as a constant reminder of Ross's own sadness and loss.

She continued her circuit of the room and ended up behind the old writing desk, looking down at the various papers that were spread out over the surface. On the top was the last letter she had received from Ross in Australia. It was worn from constant reading and was unintelligible in places from the countless times she had wept over the paper. She didn't dare read it again now, but her fingers stroked over the writing, its familiarity both a comfort and a torment to her. Sighing, she turned away and exited the room, holding her hand up to her face, her lips pressing into the cool gold of her wedding ring.

As she closed the door carefully behind her she went into the kitchen, finding Prudie angrily stirring the pot suspended over the fire. Glaring back at her, Demelza came up and took the spoon from her hand and added a pinch more pepper to the pot.

"Deal with the milk," Demelza instructed, shooing Prudie towards the door.

"I'll deal with ye'" she grumbled in response, picking up the milk pail violently and stomping out to the barn.

Demelza put the lid back on the pot and sank down at the table, her hands scrubbing over her face. She sighed yet again and held her head in her hands, trying to think over all that still had to be done that day. There wasn't much, thankfully, but she was so emotionally and physically spent that any amount of work seemed like a mountain she would be forced to summate.

Looking around lazily as she tried to work up the energy for that last push, her eyes lighted on the letter that had been delivered that morning from Trenwith. She drew it towards her, reading over Elizabeth's kind invitation to she and George's first Ball as a married couple. After Francis' death two years ago, Demelza had tried to stay on as good terms with Elizabeth as much as possible, but her decision to marry George Warleggan, the man who had played a pivotal role in sentencing Ross, a man they both loved, to a punishment that may have resulted in his death, had caused an ever-widening rift. They still saw each other of course, being neighbors and cousins, but Demelza had refused to go to the wedding and was having a hard time deciding if she should go to this decadent party, at least to make a show of civility.

She found herself wondering if Ross would want to go when a scream, obviously coming from Prudie, rent through the air.

Demelza ran out the door as fast as she could, fearing that something terrible had happened. Instead what she found caused her to skid to a shuddering halt.

Ross was standing there, clear as day, a wide grin on his face as he watched Prudie run around like a headless chicken at the sight of him.

"Ross?" her voice was cracked, horse beyond belief.

He looked up at her, his hazel eyes growing intense and his jaw slackening. Casting aside the heavy bag he had been carrying he took a few determined steps forward, breaking Demelza out of the daze she'd been in.

She ran towards him, throwing her arms around his shoulders and crying out as they made contact for the first time in going on five years. He held her, swaying back and forth slightly as he buried his face in her beautiful hair, breathing her in. He was amazed how many memories and emotions a simple smell could evoke as all sense of his aching bones and troubled thoughts were momentarily washed from his mind, replaced instead by simple relief that he was home, holding his wife. In that moment, it was all that mattered.

She leant back, a great sob wracking through her body as she looked into his face. She reached out, her fingers stroking over his jaw and down his scar.

"But... I thought you were dead!" She cried. "Everyone was saying you were dead!"

He smiled, hoping to calm her. "Why is it," he brushed back some hair from her face and cupped her cheeks, wiping away her tears with his thumbs, "that whenever I go away for any sort of extended period everyone always assumes I am dead? I'm fine, my love."

"Two years!" She sobbed. "No letter for two years! And no one knew anythin'! Oh, Ross! I can't believe you're alive!"

"Yes, alive and well," he soothed. "And happy to be home with my beautiful wife."

He leant down, peppering kisses all over her face until she laughed and found his lips with her own. The kiss was tender, yet passionate, loving, yet desperate, slow and savoring, yet entirely ravenous. It conveyed all the emotion and longing of their separation and both of them were hungry for more. Always more.

The broke apart sharply as the sound of a scuffle and shouts drew them out of their bubble. Ross looked at Demelza in confusion as they saw Jud tackle a young man to the ground, all farm equipment abandoned some distance away.

"Tis' Cap'n Ross!" Jud shouted as the boy rolled them, no doubt the stronger of the two. "The maid has no need of bein' saved from that un! Better leave 'im be, or he'll fetch ye such a whopping!"

The boy stopped his struggle, looking over his shoulder at Ross, who looked both amused and confused. Slowly he got to his feet, pushing himself off Jud's chest and dusting off his hands.

"Drake," Demelza hiccoughed slightly, "this is my husband, Captain Ross Poldark." She wiped her eyes with one hand, keeping a vice-like grip on his shoulder with the other. "Ross, this is my youngest brother, Drake."

Ross looked at Demelza in confusion, no doubt wondering why her brother, whom he had only ever heard mentioned passing, was here so far away from home. He let go of his wife momentarily, extending a hand towards the young man.

"It's an honor to finally meet you," Ross said as they gripped hands. "But I confess myself at a bit of a loss, to what do we owe the pleasure?"

"My brother Sam and I came from 'llogan some nine months ago, inquiring whether sister had any work for we. She has been most generous, findin' Sam a pitch and given me work here as a farm hand. Tis more than we ever hoped for and we are in a great deal of debt to ye both."

Ross snorted, looking down at Demelza as he wrapped an arm securely around her waist and pulled her into his side. "I'm glad she could find you accommodations since you evidently do more than just farm work. You save her from the wandering hands of...?"

Demelza blushed and scowled, images of unwanted advances rushing through her mind. She looked at her brother, imploring him not to say the one name that she knew had sprung to his lips. She'd have to explain about Captain McNeil's visits to Ross eventually, but she'd prefer not to do it while they had an audience.

"That Bodrugan fella' mostly, brother," Drake said with light hearted smile, evidently trying to play it off as some passing thing. Ross nodded, his eyebrows furrowing, knowing there was more there than anyone was letting on, but willing to let it go for now. His simple happiness at being home outweighing everything else.

"We be goin' back to the fields in a moment sister," Drake continued, "I just came to leave ye' know that we finished harvestin' the left field and there wasn' a' much rot as we feared. Most of it still be healthy."

"Good," Demelza sighed. She turned to Ross, smiling sadly as she explained, "We've already lost so much crop, any more and none of us would be able to survive winter."

"I hear it's been a bad harvest all over the county," Ross replied, frowning, and looking over Demelza's head towards the grain house.

After that Drake left again, dragging Jud along behind him, and Prudie went back into the barn, muttering all the way about how 'folks who die should stay dead.'

Ross and Demelza were left alone in the cluttered farm yard of their home. She turned to him, her hands cupping his face, stroking his curls off his forehead. A radiant smile spread across her face as she examined him. He looked tired, a little travel-worn, but still the same man she seen in her dreams every time she closed her eyes.

"There are so many things I wish to tell ye', Ross. So many things I need to tell ye'. I don't even know where to start." Inside she dreaded telling him all that she knew she must. Knowing Ross, he wouldn't take anything she told him lightly.

"Let's start with the happy things, for now, my love." Ross cupped her face in return, and smirked back slightly, "I hear that while I was away you gave birth to our son?"

Demelza's smile grew even bigger at the mention of her little joy. "Jeremy's upstairs, taking a nap. Or at least I hope he's takin' a nap. Oh, Ross, he's just like you, I don't know how, but he is. He's got this energy about him, always up and doin' just like you are. And he don't do for following orders."

Ross chuckled at that, "Then you must certainly have had your hands full." He laughed again when she rolled her eyes in response. She slapped his cheek lightly in retaliation before turning her back and walking over to where his bag lay, lugging it the short ways back to where he stood she handed it to him. He slung it over his shoulder and followed her through the house up to the master bedroom. As they went he noticed that it was more sparse than he ever remembered it being. Various chairs and paintings and knickknacks were missing, no doubt being sold to fend off his impending debts. A surge of guilt coursed through Ross and at the top of the stairs he caught Demelza around the waist with his free arm and kissed her, trying to pour his intent to fix all of this into the kiss.

They broke apart and she looked at him with a suspicious eye and half smile, she grabbed his hand and led them into their room. It was different in here as well. The desk Demelza had used as a dressing table was gone and the mirror that always sat atop it now sat on the window sill, a small collection of pins and combs sitting beside it. Julia's cot was also gone, no doubt moved to whichever room had become Jeremy's. The rug, the chairs by the fireplace, the two paintings on the wall, all of it was gone. If it were any other circumstance he may have felt the loss of many of his father's things more keenly, instead he simply felt immense regret at the amount Demelza seemed to have suffered in while he was away.

Ross dropped his bag near the end of the bed, sinking down on the chest that sat there. He unbuttoned the top few buttons of his waistcoat and watched Demelza peek her head out into the hall, listening intently for something. Having heard it she came back in, smiling brightly, and held out her hand for Ross.

"He's awake if you'd like to meet him."

Ross hesitated, apprehension creeping in. Demelza always told him he was an amazing father to Julia, and no doubt he got by in his own right, but that had been four years ago, and besides Julia, he had very little experience with children.

"Does he think I'm dead too?" Ross asked, looking up at Demelza with a raised eyebrow and a worried frown. "Paul Daniel told me that you forbade anyone from mentioning my death near him."

"No," she answered fervently. "I didn't want to tell him because I hoped you were still alive. Telling him would have been like admitting you were really gone."

Ross, sighing, stood up. Instead of taking her proffered hand he grabbed her gently by the upper arms. Looking deep into her beautiful blue eyes he leaned his forehead against hers and took a shaky breath. "I'm sorry, my love, that you've had to go through this hardship. I did write, though admittedly not as often as I should have, and I was assured that my letters were being sent. I did find it strange when I received nothing in return but I never thought too much about it."

"Nay, Ross," she said, her fingers latching on to his lapels. "You no doubt had your own things to think of."

He scoffed, leaning back to get a better look at her. "No doubt. But none of that now, I think it's high time I met my son."

Demelza smiled, and led him from the room. At Jeremy's door, she held up a hand to indicate to Ross that he must wait before peeking her head inside. Jeremy was indeed awake and jumping energetically up and down on his cot, his hands flopping around up in the air and babbling happily all the while.

"Jeremy!" she chided, striding into the room, and pushing the door closed without latching it so that Ross would be able to hear all that she said. "What have I said about jumping on your bed?"

Jeremy gave a happy little squeal as he jumped in the air one more time, landing safely on his bottom and smiled innocently up at his mother. He knew he'd done wrong, but he also knew that when he smiled at her enough he could usually get away with most things. Sighing in exasperation, she sat down on the bed next to him and ran her hand gently over his head, looking into his dark eyes which were so like his father's.

"Jeremy, there's someone who's here to see you. Someone you've never met before but who is very excited to meet you." Jeremy looked at her, he was usually very open and kind towards strangers, but on occasion, and usually around men, he would get scared or shy.

"Ross?" she called. The door opened slowly and Ross appeared, standing awkwardly in the doorway. He looked at Demelza and she nodded towards the chair by the bed. Ross sat, looking between his wife and their son. He was a handsome little boy, with thin dark hair and a happy open face, which currently seems to be guarded with suspicion as he looked at his father for the first time.

"Jeremy," Demelza said, calling back her son's attention momentarily. "This is your Papa. Remember, I told you he had been away, but would be back soon?"

Jeremy looked back at Ross, his expression unreadable. Ross hesitated for a moment, then turned fully to face his son. "Hello, Jeremy. I've been waiting a very long time to meet you, and I am so glad that I finally have."

Jeremy continued to stare silently at Ross. His hands clutching at the blanket underneath him. Eventually, he climbed laboriously to his feet, and standing on the bed clutching onto Demelza's shoulder he turned to her and asked, "My papa?"

"Yes, my lamb. This is your father," Demelza placed a hand on Ross' knee, trying to illustrate to Jeremy that Ross was someone he should trust. He continued to stand there, wobbling slightly from foot to foot until, much to everyone's surprise, he launched himself towards Ross, his chubby little arms wrapping around Ross' neck with an excited screech.

Ross quickly caught him, looking first in confusion at Demelza, who only smiled at the sight of the two of them, then down at his son, who had buried his face fully into Ross's neck. The full magnitude of what was happening washed over him and Ross realized that this was the first time he was holding his son. Turning his head, he gently pressed a kiss into Jeremy's hair and began to rock them back in forth slightly. Tears sprang to his eyes, but he blinked them away as Jeremy pulled back to smile toothily up at his father. Ross smiled back as Jeremy leaned back and began to babble about anything and everything to Ross.

"I scrapped ma' knee tuday!" he said, pulling up the leg of his trousers to show Ross the raw scab.

"You did?" Ross asked with a wide smile "How did you do that?"

"He was chasing Garrick," Demelza answered, smiling, but raising her eyebrows at Jeremy, "Something he's not supposed to be doin'."

Jeremy continued to talk and talk and talk, telling Ross of every single thing that came into his head. Demelza sat and watched the two of them, overcome with the happiness of seeing the two people she loved most in the world finally interacting with each other. It was more than she could have ever hoped for.

* * *

 

Later that evening, after Jeremy had been reluctantly put to bed, Ross watched Demelza as she stood near the window, looking into her mirror, and combing out her curls. She stood, barefoot and bodice-less, with her back to him, her beautiful red hair cascading down over her shoulders as she worked at removing the pins that had been keeping it back from her face. She began to hum gently as she worked, her soft, earthy, and utterly familiar voice giving him a sense of calm and serenity that had been missing from his life for a very long time.

He took a sip of brandy from the mug he held and grimaced slightly as it burned his throat.

There were so many things that he had missed about Demelza, her witty banter, her clever, intensely beautiful eyes, her ingenious advice, her unwavering kindness. He had missed every part of her, body, mind, and soul.

The last time they had been together as husband and wife had been tender and desperate, both of them thinking that it may be their very last time. He had thought about that for years now, dreaming about the day he would have Demelza back in his arms. He was not ashamed in the slightest to admit to himself, and to her if she asked, that he had craved her carnally and thought about her lovingly every single day.

However, he would be ashamed to admit how much he continued to think about someone who wasn't his wife. Elizabeth, and more importantly, his feelings about Elizabeth, had been constantly in his thoughts. Maybe it was the distance, or maybe it had been the slow passage of time, but while he was away he had seemingly been able to organize his emotions into a semi-coherent conclusion. He loved Demelza, sometimes in ways that he never thought possible, and he wanted to spend his life with her. He truly believed he would be entirely content doing so, they were far more suited for each other than he and Elizabeth ever had been. Loving Demelza wasn't perfection, it was hard at times and they most certainly had their ups and downs together, but she was his and was more tangible in ways that Elizabeth never could be.

Except, the mystery that was his relationship with Elizabeth would always hang over him, never truly concluded. The allure of what could have been will always draw him in and create an idealized view of her in his eyes. In all the ways that Demelza was perfect in her imperfections, Elizabeth was perfect because her imperfections were unknown.

Ross watched as Demelza gathered her hair so it was all over one shoulder and turned towards him. The moon was just peeking out from behind the clouds and the way it shone on her pale skin made him ashamed to have ever thought about any one but her. She strode over to him, taking his mug of brandy from him and taking a sip herself, only flinching slightly as she set the mug down on the small table by the fire.

"Jud and Prudie seem afeard that they'll be thrown out now that you're home." She wrapped her arms about his neck and smiled up at him as his hands settled on her hips.

"Should they be?" He asked with a raised eyebrow and slight smirk.

Demelza shrugged. "I see no reason for it. They are just as lazy as they always have been, but Jud do drink less, at least in the house, and Prudie and Jeremy adore each other."

"I'm glad you had them while I was away," Ross averted his eyes momentarily as he played with the waistband of her skirt, his fingers rolling over a rougher patch of fabric he found there. "A familiar face is always a comfort."

Sighing, she leaned her head forward and pressed her face lightly into his neck, breathing him in and tightening her hold on him. He wrapped his arms more fully around her, rubbing his hands affectionately up and down her back.

She leaned back and looked at him. Her light eyes searched his face, a certain sadness in her gaze that he felt entirely responsible for. Then she smiled, all former melancholy overshadowed by her simple joy that had been a source of strength for him for years.

Not able to hold himself back any longer he kissed her, really kissed her. A hand came up to bury itself in her hair as he angled her back slightly to deepen the kiss. She laughed a little in surprise at first but quickly recovered, her hands resting lightly on his chest. She responded to his every move, her body aching for him just as much as his was for her.

When the kiss began to grow frantic and sloppy she pushed him back slightly, looking deeply into his eyes as her hands came up to stroke tenderly down his face. "I want to savor this, Ross," she whispered, kissing along his jaw. "You're home now. We have all the time in the world."

She kissed his neck as he bunched her skirts up and slid his hands down her legs, encouraging her to wrap them around his waist. Carefully, he carried her like a precious treasure towards the well-made bed. Kneeling before her, he buried his hands in her hair as she gently began to pull his shirt from his trousers. He separated from her to pull it over his head and throw it towards the floor.

When he turned back he found her smiling in that kind of sad, yet utterly sweet Demelza way. Sitting up straighter, she leaned her forehead against his and ran her hands over his chiseled chest, her fingers ghosting over the several new scars that lay there, yet never stopping on any one in particular. Slowly, she kissed her way down his face and to his neck as his fingers began to gently work at the laces of her jumps.

Once the garment was loosened he helped her remove it, his hands gently running the straps down her arms. From there his hands moved to undo the ties binding her skirt. Slowly, he helped her to remove this too and eventually she was left in nothing but her under shift.

She couldn't help but watch him as he did this, his intent gaze and reverent fingers displaying such intense and meaningful emotion that it made her gut twist and her head feel light.

"Demelza," he whispered guiding her back to lay across the bed and kissing her with such tenderness that she felt tears spring to her eyes. His hands roamed over her as he kissed ever bit of exposed flesh he could find. She could feel him pressed against her leg, his hardness rubbing up against her every time he moved. Softly, she began to undo the laces of his trousers, pulling them apart slowly, turning her head to catch his lips as he kissed his way over her cheek. She pushed them past his hips and he quickly shed them, not seeming to want to spend a moment away from her body.

His own hands began to work their way under her shift, his fingers gliding over her center momentarily causing her to cry out softly. He smiled against her collarbone, chuckling slightly as he drew her last vestiges of modesty off over her head. There was a moment of peace as Ross' eyes roamed over her.

It was the times like this, slow, tender, intimate, that Demelza remembered the most in those long years since they had been together last. There were many times in their marriage that she had doubted his love, that the shadow that was his affection for Elizabeth had caused her feel less than she knew she deserved. But when Ross looked at her and touched her like this, it was like she was the only thing in the world worth having.

"You're beautiful, my love," he whispered. She laughed in response, her hands reaching up to brush his curls back off his face.

"And you're a flatterer," she countered. He smiled and descended on her, kissing her cheeks, her forehead, her chin.

"The most beautiful, my love."

She smiled and the whole room lit up around them. She was an angel and that smile was Ross' window to the divine. In that moment, he forgot his pain and his fears and his confused emotions. It was only them. Nothing else.

He moved over her slowly, his hands gliding over her naked flesh, never quite touching until he reached her core where he intimately slipped a long finger inside, testing her and finding her completely ready for him. He leaned over her, her legs cradling him securely as he aligned himself and began to push himself into her. Once fully sheathed inside of her he moaned but immediately stilled sensing the tension in her body.

"Demelza?" he questioned his hand gently brushing the hair back from her face and neck, trying to sooth her.

"Tis nothing. It's passed. It's just been a while is all," she breathed, the burning and stretching already fading away, suddenly replaced with an intense need for him.

He nodded and began to move his hips, slowly pushing in and out. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down to meet her and kissing him lightly, tenderly.

They began to pant, his eyes growing wild as he watched her pleasure grow.

"You feel so good, Demelza," he whispered and she could only respond with a nonsensical cry of pleasure as he reared upwards so that they were both seated with her straddling his lap. The changed angle made her gasp as she began to ride him, her hands grasping his shoulders tightly, red marks burning into his skin. She was in desperate need of something to hold on to. From this position, he was able to hit that spot deep inside her just right, bringing her closer and closer to the edge.

"Are you close, my love?" His voice sounded utterly broken as he stared deeply into her azure blue eyes that seemed to be glowing in the firelight. "I can feel you, Demelza. I can feel you."

She couldn't contain her cry of pleasure as his hand moved to where they were joined and began to massage her center roughly. She fell apart, practically screaming his name into the night.

He followed immediately after, pumping up into her twice more before allowing himself to spurt into her, completely overwhelmed by the power of their coupling.

"I love you, Demelza," Ross whispered against her shoulder as he held her tightly in his lap, his hands stroking up and down her sweat covered skin.

"I love you too, Ross," she sighed in return, turning her head and pressing a prolonged kiss into his newly damp hair.

Ross fell backward onto the mattress, pulling Demelza down on top of him and holding her to his chest. They lay entwined with each other as their breathing slowly evened out and returned to normal.

The moon had disappeared behind the clouds again, leaving the slowly dying fire and the few remaining candles as the only source of light. Outside the not so distant sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs could be heard over the howling of the wind and the rattling of the window panes.

Slowly, Demelza began to extract herself from Ross' arms and climbed out of bed.

"What are you doing?" Ross asked, admiring the view as she walked around to the other side of the bed and pulled her shift back on over her head.

She turned to him with an eyebrow cocked. "You forget we have a son who could walk in here at any time?" Reaching towards the end of the bed she grabbed his breeches and threw them at him. Grumbling slightly, he scooted to the edge of the bed and tugged his trousers back on before collapsing back down again and burrowing under the covers. He held his hand out for his wife, beckoning for her to come back and join him.

She did, of course, snuffing out some of the candles on the way and dimming the room slightly. Under the covers, she laid her head on his shoulder and began to trace small patterns into his course chest hair.

"So," Ross began after a moment, his own fingers stroking gently through Demelza's cascading curls. "Your brothers are living in Mark's cottage. I'm glad to see it's getting some use."

"Hmm," Demelza nodded, rubbing her cheek against him. "They've been a great help. I thought it was the least I could do for them."

They fell silent for a beat, both of them simply content with lying in each other's arms and enjoying their conjugal bliss.

"I was thinking we would walk over to Trenwith and visit Francis and Elizabeth tomorrow so that I may thank them in person for all they've done for you and Jeremy," Ross said suddenly, his eyes fixed on the dying flames in the grate behind Demelza. She stiffened, her hands stilling their movements and her breath coming out in a harsh rasp. Ross noticed this and looked down at the top of her head in question. "You do not wish to see them?"

Demelza didn't respond, instead, sitting up on her knees and facing Ross. She was biting her lip and averting her eyes as her brows furrowed. Ross sat up too, worried at her sudden change in behavior.

"Demelza?"

She took his hand in both of hers and looked up at him, seemingly incredibly nervous about whatever she needed to say.

"I don't believe goin' to Trenwith would be a very good idea, Ross." Her voice cracked slightly as she prepared herself to ruin the happy bubble they'd surrounded themselves with since Ross had shown up in the barnyard.

"Why not?" He asked in that imploring yet utterly calm tone he always used in situations like this.

She bit her lip but looked him dead in the eye as she prepared to tell him of all the things which would no doubt ruin whatever happiness he hoped to cultivate and maintain on his return home.

"A lot has happened while you've been away, and most of it won't be to your likin'."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter was entirely fluff, but as y'all can probably tell from the slight cliff hanger, drama is coming soon!
> 
> As I'm writing this I am noticing that there may be a few spoilers for stuff that hasn't happened in the TV series yet. I'll try to keep the major plot points on the down low and try not to give anything major away. If I do accidentally let something slip, feel free to yell at me all you like.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad news and emotional revelations

Ross waited, his dread growing inside of him as Demelza paused and took a deep breath.

"There've been a lot of changes, Ross. Some of which I feel I should tell you now, despite knowin' they'd be painful to you." She looked at him, her hands still clutching his and her blue eyes flashing in the dying light of the fire. "I wish I didn't have to tell you. I wish we could stay in our house and be happy. I wish for a great many things-"

"Demelza," Ross interrupted, his eye wide and worried. "Just tell me what has happened."

She took in a shaky breath and decided to just say it as quickly as possible. "Francis died. Two summers ago."

The news hung like a sickly fog in the air around them. The room seemed to grow instantly darker as Ross' mood suddenly switched, all vestiges of happy contentment replaced by the simple shock and devastation the information had brought.

"How?" He asked shakily. Demelza watched as a cloud seemed to draw over his face. She suspected it would only darken as the night wore on.

"He fell from his horse as he was riding home to Trenwith one night." She clutched his hand, which had gone limp in hers, and ran her other one gently and tenderly up and down his forearm, trying to sooth the impact of her words. "When he didn't return for supper Elizabeth sent out a search party. Dwight and Zachy Martin found him in the woods between Sawel and Trenwith with his neck broke; there was nothing they could do."

Ross gaped, his eyes looking past Demelza as he tried to process all of this. His cousin, his oldest friend, and the only other gentlemanly representation of the Poldark house, was dead. Though they had quarreled in the past it had all been swept aside for Ross when Francis had agreed to take care of Demelza, essentially abolishing all notion of betrayal or distrust. He did not hate his cousin, as all animosity had gone from him. Yet Francis did not know that. He had died thinking that Ross loathed him. He was gone, and Ross would never be able to tell him that he was sorry and willing to make up.

Ross' thoughts ran away with him. He thought about all the things that could have happened differently, all the mistakes he, and others, had made which had lead Francis to the terrible fate. Most of all he thought of Elizabeth. How awful it must have been for her to not only lose a husband but also be forced into a position of responsibility she had never experienced before. While these concerns for her were his primary thoughts, he couldn't help the feeling that the obstacle between Elizabeth and himself had been removed. That they were freer somehow. Freer to be with each other? Maybe.

But it was more than that. While Francis was alive they had both been bound to him, in different ways of course, but that bond had in a sense connected Ross and Elizabeth. Familially, yes, Ross now felt responsible for Elizabeth. Yet, the essence of that bond Francis had solidified was gone, leaving Ross feeling strangely adrift. Parts of him rebelled against this loss of contact, feeling as though with the loss of Francis, he was losing Elizabeth as well.

"Poor Elizabeth," he breathed out, wanting to voice at least some of his thoughts out to Demelza. Instead of answering with any information about how Elizabeth had handled the loss Demelza's hand, which had been stroking through his hair, stopped and moved to clutch onto his shoulder. She looked at him, even more worry clouding her face as her eyebrows pulled themselves closer together.

"Ross, that isn't even the half of it. When I'm finished I suspect you won't be feelin' at all sorry for Elizabeth," she whispered, her fingers clutching his shoulder almost harshly.

"How do you mean?" His eyes snapped to her, not at all liking how she seemed to be getting ready to tell him even more bad news.

"For about a year Elizabeth struggled to maintain Trenwith and was not at all in a good place, either emotionally or financially. I helped when I could and Verity came for a good while, but she fell into a bad way, especially when her mother got ill. I don't think she's much meant for livin' on her own and her troubles, as well as the unrest her abouts, made her nervous." Demelza paused, watching as Ross expression grew increasingly concerned in a way that he was ashamed to admit twisted her gut with the twinges of jealousy.

"She turned to George Warleggan for help and guidance. He was kind to her, in his way. Holdin' off Francis's debts an' providin' her with a nurse for Mrs. Chenowith. I tried to tell her not to trust him, that there were other people who she could be turnin' to for help and that George wasn't to be trusted after what he'd done to both you and Francis, but she wouldn't listen to me." She took a deep breath, preparing herself for any number of reactions Ross would have to what she had to say next. "In June of last year, they married and have been livin' in Trenwith for near on six months now."

She braced herself as she watched Ross' expression change from shock to utter fury as the news sunk in. He pulled his hand out of hers and got up from the bed violently. Demelza followed suite and stood with a hand on a post of the bed as Ross began to pace angrily back and forth.

"How could she?" He practically yelled, causing Demelza to jump slightly.

"Ross," she admonished in a low whisper, not knowing exactly how to calm him down.

"No, Demelza," he yelled again, turning his fiery eyes on her. "I tell you this betrayal will not stand! How could she marry George Warleggan? The man I consider my greatest enemy, and now married to the woman I have long believed to be one of my closest allies."

Demelza pushed aside the hurt she felt at the idea of Elizabeth being Ross' closest friend over her. This wasn't about her. She has made her peace with the event and now it's Ross' turn to experience the shock they had all felt at the news. "I don't think it was about you, or her tryin' to hurt you, Ross. I think she was desperate and looking for a way out, marrying George was that way out for her."

"God forbid anyone be so desperate as turn to George Warleggan for solace!" He continued to pace, his hand rubbing his forehead desperately. He turned to Demelza again, the anger in his eyes both concerning and terrible to behold. "Do you think she married him out of gratitude for those things he did for her?"

Demelza remained silent, trying to organize her thoughts in the face of Ross' furry. "No," she said slowly. "At least that's not the only reason she married him."

"What other reason could there be?" Again, Demelza didn't respond. Her hand wrapped around the post as Ross stared her down. "What other reason, Demelza?"

"You will think me cruel for sayin' what I believe her other reasons may be," she stated, her eyes meeting Ross' steadily. His moods had never frightened her and she knew from years of experience both as his maid and as his wife that the best way to deal with them was head on.

"Just tell me!" he yelled. No doubt by now he had woken the entire household, including Jeremy, who would soon be running down the hall following his unpredictable curiosity. Demelza walked quickly to the door and bolted it to prevent him from getting inside. She turned back to Ross and calmly walked over to where he stood.

"Fine. Elizabeth is accustomed to a certain lifestyle for herself and for Geoffrey Charles, and livin' without that lifestyle for even a year was too much for her." She looked up into Ross' brown eyes which almost seemed black in his rage. His facial expression morphed into one of disgust as he took a step back from her.

"Are you saying she married him for his money?" He scoffed, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. This time Demelza refused to respond, her face hard and unreadable as Ross continued to stare at her. "And they're living at Trenwith! Do the Warleggans not have two perfectly suitable residencies in Truro and at Cardew? Do they do it to intentionally hurt me?"

"I have no notion, Ross, "she answered. "Verity seems to think that Elizabeth believes it is so that Geoffrey Charles may remain in his own home."

"But you believe he does it to spite me?" Ross asked, his hands running exasperatedly through his hair.

"Did I say that?" She countered, her own eyes flashing with annoyance. "It may very well be what George's intentions were, but we have no way of knowin' do we? And what use would livin' in Trenwith have served when we all thought you to be dead? Truly I have no idea what George's goal was when he moved them there."

"So I'm just supposed to accept him living in my ancestral home?" He snarled. The door rattled as someone tried to get in and Jeremy could be heard just beyond babbling something unintelligible.

"For now, yes." She stepped towards him, but he scoffed and shook his head in utter incredulity before walking angrily around the room and collecting his articles of clothing.

"What are you doing?" Demelza asked as he pulled his shirt violently over his head and began to tuck it into his trousers. She became instantly worried that he was going to confront either George or Elizabeth, something that would no doubt end in disaster for all.

"Out," he grunted in response as he tugged on his boots. He looked up at her form his perch on the trunk at the end of the bed and smiled sardonically.

"Don't worry, my love," he sneered at her. "I won't go near that pig infested house. As you've said, four years is a long time to be away and I feel myself in need of reassurance that there's any remnant of my old life that hasn't been utterly destroyed."

"Ross," she protested. She was again hurt by his words, but she knew he didn't necessarily mean her. He meant his old life from before he went to America even. His family was gone and their house was in the hands of another. He finished buttoning up his waist coat, not bothering to look at his wife, and made his way towards the door.

"Ross, the storm," she called after him. He glanced briefly up at the window where rain lashed violently against the glass.

"I've lived through worse," he told her bitingly. She knew he had, and she knew he was referring to more than she knew. He was referring to events of the past four years that she had not been privy to. She wanted to know, so he could share that burden, but that wasn't their current concern. Quietly he turned around, unbolted the door, and walked out into the hall. Demelza followed him as he descended the stairs and stocked out into the night. She stood in the doorway, the rain and the wind battering her slightly as she watched her husband walk purposefully up the fields towards Hendrawna Beach. He was quickly swallowed by the night and she contemplated going out after him as Prudie waddled up to her side with a sleepy scowl and a babbling Jeremy on her hip.

"Tis' lucky this storm blew in or else 'e would 'ave woken the 'ole of the county," Prudie yawned as Demelza quickly took Jeremy from her and scowled in return.

"Lucky?" Demelza snapped, looking out into the storm as she balanced Jeremy on the crook of her arm. "None of what just happened was lucky."

Prudie stayed silent, scowling out into the night as she placed her hands on her hips.

"'e'll live," she stated as she turned around abruptly and made her way up the stairs, no doubt to go back to sleep.

Demelza continued to stand at the door and watch the rain fall and catch the light that poured out from the house. Soon Jeremy began to complain of the cold and tug incessantly at her hair. She took him upstairs and tucked him back into bed, singing softly to him as she did so. He settled relatively quickly, but asked sleepily as she prepared to leave where his father was.

"He'll be back soon, my lamb," she answered, kissing the top of his head before she left the room quietly. She dressed quickly in an old bodice and skirt before heading downstairs. She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep tonight while Ross was out there braving the storm, both figuratively and literally. She busied herself with making bread for the next day as her thoughts raced. As she kneaded the dough with strong steady beats her heart went out to Ross for all the hardships he must have, and will continue to face.

The task didn't occupy her for long and afterwords Demelza settled in the parlor and worked at lighting the fire which had died out over the past few hours. Once she had coaxed the fire into a blaze she sat down on the settle, listening intently to the storm roaring outside. She wrapped her heavy woolen shawl about herself and waited.

* * *

 

A little after midnight struck Ross found himself walking along Hendrawna Beach away from the Nampara. The tide was far out and the sand broke under his feet like crisp frost. He climbed up the Dark Cliffs to the Holy Well and stared into the depths of pool, wondering if he should make a wish, or perhaps pray to God like all those before him for a miracle. A miracle to do what? Bring his cousin back from the dead? Erase the hurt and betrayal from his heart at Elizabeth's senseless remarriage to the man who had caused him pain and hardship at every turn?

And what good would it do to wish for any of those things? Who would be listening? God? Joshua Poldark, Ross's father, had never believed in religion, thinking that it was just tales told to placate the weak of mind and heart. So, in turn, Ross grew up finding no use for it. He rarely went to church and never in his life did he believe that God, if he existed, passed a single thought on the actions of others. Yet Ross wanted to believe in something else, and he sensed a power to the reality around him that no one would ever be able to explain.

In the end, Ross stuck his hand in the freezing water and crossed himself thrice with the other, mumbling, "Father, Son, Holy Spirit," as he did so. He did not pray for his cousin back, or for some terrible fate to befall George; instead, he prayed that he would stop reliving the worst of his experiences in Australia, that he could return to a normal life.

The images danced before his eyes, making it virtually impossible to sleep at night. He had seen more cruelty, more death, and more acts of indecent and animalistic behavior, on just the journey there than any man should have to see in their entire lifetime. Rather foolishly he had hoped that coming home, that seeing and holding his wife, would cause those thoughts to fade away and he would be able to rest, finally rest for the first time in years. Instead, all through their emotional reunion and as he lay with Demelza in their bed, he had almost been able to think of nothing but those experiences.

He removed his hand from the well, careful not to brush off any of the moisture, and continued along the cliffs. The sea crashed against the rocks below and the wind howled, pelting him with fat droplets of rain. He walked and walked and walked, stumbling into windswept and barren land that was empty of any signs of human life. He hadn't been this way since he was a child. There was nothing to come for except when, as now, he was trying to escape from himself.

He tried to think, to order his thoughts, he feelings, as the night progressed and the cliff edges became sharper. But no order came. All he could do at this point was feel the rawness of it all eating away at him so that at moments he was taken by uncontrollable bouts of grief, or anger, that had left him unable to breath.

It was nearing the witching hour by the time he turned around again and made his way back towards his own land. The wind battered him back and forth as he stalked across the moors. He avoided Wheal Leisure, preferring not to feign interest and excitement if he came across someone he knew. Instead he made his way towards the shell of Wheal Grace. He took momentary shelter in the derelict engine house, sinking down into a chair as he watched the darkness receded. The landscape became clearer out the little window as Ross sat and tried his best not to think. He failed miserably.

This mine was full of memories. Memories of his mother, with her bright, happy spirit and her long dark hair. Memories of his father, who was so devastated after Grace died that he closed down his mines because they reminded him too much of what he'd lost. He remembered his brother too, who had died at just five years old only a year after their mother. Not even old enough to become his own person, he had always followed Ross around and copied what others had done. This included his cousins, Francis and Verity, who were gone now too, in their own rights. His generation, his parents' generation, they were all gone. Eventually Aunt Agatha would be dead, Jeremy and Geoffrey Charles were too young to understand, and Elizabeth had forfeited the right to ever call herself a part of this family again. There was Demelza of course and she would fight like hell for them, but for all intents and purposes, Ross was the last of the Poldarks.

The great house of Poldark, left in the hands of a scoundrel, a convict, a reckless rogue who put himself and his family into danger more than any sane man ever should. He was no longer in control of his own finances, lacking in all knowledge of the current workings of his mine, swimming in debt, and haunted by events of a four-year absence that had taken more than just his freedom from him. By no logical sense would he ever be considered a capable head of house. This was more pressure than he ever expected. Francis hadn't been particularly good at it while he had been alive. The responsibility was what caused him to self-destruct no doubt. But in essence Ross and Francis had shared the position, or at least the pressure, somewhat. Now it was Ross's turn and he had no one to turn to for advice. No one else to show their undying support because it was their duty. He didn't even have possession of their ancestral home. He was alone.

His thoughts turned to Julia. She too was taken too young, before she had ever had the chance to live. After she had died he had felt more than he ever thought possible. She had been his joy, and with her his happiness had died, leaving in its place only grief and sorrow and an unexpected sense of being adrift. After her funeral he had avoided going to the cemetery, always telling himself that there was time to go and see her when he was ready. During the weeks between her death and the trial he knew that Demelza had gone several times. She had always left their house with a small bouquet of flowers and had returned with a tear stained face and hollow eyes, saying that it made her feel better somehow, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't see the place where he knew she, his sweet little girl, would lie forever without a chance to ever grow up.

Now he felt compelled beyond rational thought to go to the graveyard: to pay his respects to Francis, to see Julia. Most of all he felt a morbid need to affirm that he truly was alone. Maybe seeing the cemetery bursting with Poldark's would remind him just what his task would be from now on.

He walked across the moors towards Sawel in the pre-dawn light. People were out and about now, on their way to work at the mine or simply making an early start to the day. He tried to be polite and great every last one of them with the same amount of enthusiasm that they bestowed on him, yet it was all a forced, disingenuous happiness that continued to wear on him. He truly was happy to see them all and under different circumstances would be more than glad to share the comradery he once felt between himself and all these people he knew so well. He made a mental to talk with Demelza about organizing a harvest feast for the mine workers and their families so that he may fully enjoy his time back home with his people.

He found himself in the graveyard at the Sawel Church under a gnarled old tree next to the Poldark plot that he remembered standing under with his family as the took shelter from the rain that poured down during his mother's funeral. The plot wasn't large yet was endlessly expansive, containing numerous lives, both lived and unlived, that stared back at him with a haunted sense of finality. All of them gone, hopefully to a better place, though Ross didn't know if he believed in heaven. But that was what everyone wished for, a better place. A better life.

Julia's grave was at the edge of the plot, next to his parent's. Ross knelt in front of the grave, his knees digging into the soggy earth below which his young daughter, not yet two years old, would stay forever.

A small stone had been erected, which was a slight shock considering stones were not common for children. If anything, children would share a grave site with their parents, once they too had been put in the ground, as Ross' brother did with his parents. The marker resembled more of a stepping stone than anything, rising only a few inches out of the ground and simply reading:

Julia Grace Poldark

1788-1790

in perpetuum et unum diem

A small bouquet of wild flowers lay near the grave, no doubt laid there by Demelza not too long ago judging by the still vibrant colors of some of the small buds. Ross wondered how the stone was payed for. His coffers were entirely bare at Julia's death and had most definitely been just as sparse since. Demelza would have had no means by which such a stone could be erected. But he was glad it was. Julia had always deserved the best. She deserved to be remembered.

In perpetuum et unum diem. Ross' Latin was sparse at best and it had been years since he had tried to remember any of his schoolings. Though it was oddly familiar in a way, the meaning of this phrase was entirely lost to him.

He sat at the grave for a long time, paying no heed as the world around him slowly continued to lighten. Occasionally his eyes would stray out over the rest of the tract, over the names of all the Poldark's of the district. Francis was out there he knew, but Ross couldn't bring himself to look at his final resting place just yet.

He jumped slightly when he felt a soft touch on his shoulder. Looking up he saw Demelza standing there, the early morning sun causing her shadow to stretch a considerable distance over the grassy graves. She knelt next to him and placed a warm woolen blanket over his shoulders, one arm wrapping around him and the other reaching out to sooth the fist that was clenched over his knee.

They sat in silence for a while more, gazing down at the reminder of all that they had lost. Demelza ran her hand absentmindedly up and down Ross' forearm, stroking away some of the tension that had been filling his body for hours now.

"Forever and a day," Ross whispered. His brain had finally clicked into place and the translation suddenly flew through him. Demelza nodded, her hands still rubbing across the strained muscles in his back and shoulders.

"Yes," she whispered back. "Verity picked it out, but I thought it was fittin'."

They fell back into silence and the wind picked up around them. The breeze was chilly, the vestiges of the night's storm still clinging to the air and making the world around them gray and cold.

"I didn't give myself the chance, to grieve I mean. First with the trial, then transport, my mind was always occupied." He stared hard at the stone in front of them. Demelza's hand worked its way into his fist, her fingers twining with his in a show of compassion and comfort. "In a way I welcomed it. Not being able to think about anything beyond survival helped me to forget. But now with Francis gone too, and Elizabeth married to George, her loss has come back to me in some sense."

Ross spoke with a scowl on his face, his eyebrows knitted over his troubled eyes. "It's just more fuel to the fire."

He stood up angrily, the blanket still hanging from his shoulders, and stalked over to the other end of the plot. Demelza followed, standing next to him calmly as he looked down at Francis' grave. Ross had been experiencing so much emotion all night that now that he was finally here, he only felt numb. Francis was gone, and here was the proof in front of him, written in stone.

"He so wanted to make it up with you, Ross. In person," Demelza said after the silence had stretched on too long. "Forgive me if I was mistaken in doin' so, but I told him all was forgiven, on your part as well as mine."

"No, you were right to tell him so. He has more than made up for his actions by taking care of you as I asked. I'm glad he didn't die thinking that there was still a rift between our families." Ross looked up from the grave, his eyes traveling out towards the deep blue of the sea that could be seen just at the horizon over a stretch of tall green grass. All his other problems and worries began eat away at the corners of his mind once more and his anger, grief, worry, and heartache flashed across his face.

"'Tis more than just Francis and George?" Demelza questioned seen his emotions better than anyone else could.

Ross didn't answer, he just continued to stare out at the water, wishing that Francis was alive so that some of his burdens would be lifted.

"Tell me," she urged, her hand gripping his tightly as her other wrapped securely around his waist and hugged him to her. He glanced up at her then, looking entirely helpless and desperate.

"Demelza, I've always been the black sheep of my family. We Poldarks are a strange and peculiar lot, but I have always been the disappointment. I can't be the perfect gentleman. I can't be who they want me to be." He looked out hopelessly over the cemetery, over hundreds of years of Poldarks, all leading to him.

"Ross," she said carefully, following his line of sight and working out for herself who he meant. "They're dead. It doesn't matter to them anymore. You're the head of the family now, you decide what it means to be a Poldark. Don't be lettin' the opinions of the dead follow you around."

Ross considered her as he wrapped an arm around her in turn. "Yes, I am concerned about preserving my family legacy. But it is not the opinions of the dead that concern me so much as the opinions of the living. I'm a convict, Demelza. I've already dodged a sentencing once by running off and fighting in that god forsaken war. I've been at the head of a failed smelting company and my mine is no doubt floundering. To top it all off, I married my serving maid, and while you are the best thing in my life by far, it has scandalized me in the eyes of polite society."

"But you are still so popular. You have so many friends, so many business partners, who believe in what you do. It was them, your partners in the mine and in Carnmore, who payed for Julia's stone. Not all of Cornwall lies with George, Ross." Demelza was ardent in her convictions. She knew Ross would be a great leader of the family, but she knew he would never see himself as such and would never be able to conform to everyone's, or even his own, expectations.

"But we too may be forced to lie down with the Warleggan's soon enough," Ross replied bitterly. His scar stood out harshly against his skin, the puckered flesh making every change in expression seem to intensify. "Have you heard anything about Justice Listers conditions? Do we know who will be taking over our finances?"

"There was a letter from Pasco in the post this mornin'. It was addressed to you so I assume he knows you're back and wants to go about settin' it up."

Ross nodded, his eyes returning to the grave before them. "I had hoped that Francis would be named my trustee. But now I suppose it will just be whoever makes the strongest case. No doubt George will work just as hard to ruin me here as he did with the trial."

He sighed, looking up at the sky and hugging Demelza more fully to his side. The sky was clearing somewhat and speckles of blue were visible between clouds of silvery grey. It was going to be hot, not stiflingly so, but enough to matter. He was exhausted, wanting nothing more than to lie down in his own bed and sleep for days. But there were things to do. He needed to go down into the mine and speak with both Henshawe and Demelza about where their profits and losses stood. He needed to ride to Truro to speak with Pasco and return the gelding. He needed to organize the harvest, and he needed to get to know his son. There were so many things that must be done for his life to return to some semblance of normal that he could almost ignore his current feelings about George and Elizabeth in favor of focusing on doing something productive.

"A letter came from Verity as well. She and Captain Blamey, and their son are coming up for a visit three days from now." Demelza said, seeing that Ross would now appreciate a change of topic.

"Verity has a son?" Ross asked, his head snapping towards his wife, his attention fully drawn away from the grave sites in front of him.

"Yes, Andrew. He was born last October. They're goin' to be stayin' with us, I hope you don't mind." She began to steer them away from the cemetery and out into the fields towards their home.

"No, I suppose she doesn't very much wish to stay at Trenwith anymore does she?"

"No, Ross," Demelza sighed, glad to see his mood was improving somewhat. She had learned long ago that you could never tell with Ross; sometimes his moods will last only minutes, exploding in moments of anger and frustration that would pass just as quickly as they came. Other times they would hang over him like a cloud, darkening his every thought and action for months on end.

"Do they know I'm back? Or do they too think I'm dead?" They walked side by side, Ross' arms clutching the blanket tightly around him, his damp clothes heightening the chill of the air.

"I'd assume they'd have no way of knowin' you're alive. Do you enjoy being the man back from the dead? Or is this fame just another great burden to you?" She joked, smiling and looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

He laughed. "I confess, two times back from the dead does seem to have turned me into some sort of invisible god."

She laughed in turn and pinched him, causing him to jump and mock scowl down at her. "Not so invisible I see."

They continued on together for a while, the simple companionship edging out most of Ross' worries for a time. "Did Verity give the reason for her visit? I assume it must be substantial for her to wish to travel with a child who is not yet one year old."

"Andrew is a hearty babe, always has been. This journey will be nothing' to him." she assured him, frowning slightly at the prospect of having to tell Ross about George and Elizabeth's invitation so soon. "She and Captain Blamey have been invited to the Warleggans Harvest Ball at Cardew and seein' as it's George and Elizabeth's first time hosting a ball together, and she must show civility - I think that's the word she used - she feels obliged to attend."

Ross frowned, his mood returning slightly as he contemplated this, "And do you feel obliged to attend?"

She sighed again, leaning her head down and bumping it against his shoulder before continuing. "I've been as polite to them as I can be. They're our neighbors after all and I did not wish for us to be cut off from Geoffrey Charles because, as you said, we are the last of the Poldarks, we need to stick together. But I haven't forgotten all that George has done, Ross. I was invited, yes, but I don't think it would be fittin' for us to go."

"Would you have gone if I hadn't come back?" He asked darkly, yet in a way that indicated he wanted nothing less than the truth.

"I don't know, maybe, If Verity could convince me, which I suspect she could have."

"No doubt she'll try to convince me too," Ross grumbled. They finished the trek back to Nampara in silence, thankfully having avoided seeing any others along the way.

As they entered the barnyard the front door banged open and Jeremy's small frame came hurtling out, followed closely by Garrick. Running straight past Demelza, Jeremy wailed loudly as he collided with Ross' legs.

"Papa!" he cried his face red with tears. Immediately concerned, Ross knelt and scooped up his son, holding him close so that he could comfort him.

"What is it? What's the matter, Jeremy?" Ross asked as he stroked his sons thin baby hair back off his forehead with his free hand. Jeremy just continued to sniffle and sob, his fat little hands clutching tightly to Ross's damp coat.

Demelza came up to them, a sad smile on her face as she ran a gentle hand down her sons back. "You were gone this mornin' when he woke up. He was thinkin' you were gone for good and has been cryin' since six."

Ross looked shocked as he stared between his wife and his son. Carefully, he forced Jeremy's head down so that it was nestled in the crook of his neck and began to rock back and forth slightly.

"Shh, my boy," he soothed, his hand rubbing small circles up and down Jeremy's neck as he continued to cry. "I'm not going anywhere. I may have to leave the house from time to time, but I will always come back. I wouldn't leave you for the world. Never again."

Jeremy clutched tightly to Ross' neck, his cries subsiding somewhat, as Ross continued to sooth his son. Demelza watched as Ross' own eyes began to tear up slightly. She marveled at the fact that the two of them, after only having known each other for less than a day, were already so attached.

After a lengthy spell, Jeremy leaned back and looked at Ross, nodding slightly at something Ross had said.

"Are you all right, my lamb?" Demelza asked, reaching out to take Jeremy from Ross. Jeremy shrank away, clutching tightly to his father, and screaming loudly. "Papa has to go upstairs and change his clothes, he's all wet."

Jeremy continued to stare at his mother suspiciously, and Ross smiled slightly. "It's fine, Demelza. I don't mind."

"He's just gotten over a cold, I don't need you catchin' a chill and gettin' sick as well." She glared at him, her eyebrows knitting darkly over her beautiful blue-green eyes. She looked back at Jeremy then, her hand stroking down his back gently again. "How about you and I follow him upstairs and we can pick out a book for your Papa to read to you while breakfast is prepared. Hmm?"

Jeremy nodded again after a beat and leaned back from Ross into Demelza's arms. Balancing him safely on her hip they all made their way inside.

"I think after breakfast I will go to the mine and speak with Henshawe, you're welcome to come if you like," Ross said as they started to ascend the stairs.

"Yes, Ross. I have some chores I need to take care of here, but I think it's a good idea. I know there will be a few things that we will need to make a decision on." Demelza answered, smiling as Jeremy refused to take his eyes off his father.

"No doubt," Ross grumbled, turning towards her as they reached their bedroom door. "After we return I should speak to your brother about the harvest and we should plan a feast for the miners. Pasco can wait until tomorrow."

Demelza smiled a bright, happy smile and leaned up to press a gentle kiss to his mouth. "Yes, Ross," she said before pulling away and carrying Jeremy off to his own room as Ross stepped into theirs and began to change for the day.

* * *

 

Throughout breakfast Jeremy had been insistent that Ross kept reading the book he had chosen for them, not even allowing him a moment to eat his meal. Demelza laughed as Ross attempted to shovel food into his mouth while continuing to mumble the words from the book that he was propping open with his other hand, all while Jeremy sat in his lap, squealing in delight at the funny sounds and faces his father was making.

Jeremy had finally been persuaded to leave Ross alone by the promise that he could feed his leftovers to the pigs so long as he didn't let Garrick go near them.

"I need to be startin' the laundry, but after that we'll go to the mine?" Demelza asked as she started to clear away the dishes. Ross stopped her as she reached for the bread and took another two pieces, stuffing the first into his mouth and placing the other on his already heaping plate. She raised her eyebrows at him and he smiled at her, thankfully keeping his mouth closed and his food inside.

"Do you have the finance books?" Ross called after her once he had swallowed his bulging mouthful.

"Aye, they're in the library. On your desk," she called back from the kitchen as she nudged Prudie and nodded towards the dishes, indicating that she wanted them cleaned. Prudie grumbled and stood from her seat by the fire and set about putting out her pipe.

Demelza went around the house, grabbing all the laundry that had been slowly accumulating and piling it into a large basket. Balancing this on her hip she descended the stairs just in time to hear Jeremy's happy laughter and Ross' pounding feet as they chased each other in and out of various rooms. She was just able to make it passed them and to the door before they hurtled into the library. Laughing she pulled the door open and gave a small yelp of surprise as she came face to face with someone standing on the other side.

"Judas!" she gasped, momentarily forgetting herself before she straightened and stared at the woman standing in front of her. She wore a riding habit of fine blue velvet and had somewhat ostentatious hat with too many feathers pinned atop her dark brown curls.

"Demelza," Elizabeth greeted. She was worrying her hands slightly and was looking overly excited, her pale skin flushed and her eyes wide and anxious.

"Elizabeth," Demelza greeted in return, her eyes narrowed in suspicion and her heart sinking with the implications of this impromptu visit.

Elizabeth opened her mouth several times, seemingly at a loss for words, before finally stuttering out, "I - Is it true? Is he alive?"

Demelza was about to answer when the door to the library banged open again and Ross emerged with a giggling Jeremy slung over his shoulder so that the young boy was hanging upside down. Ross was smiling, happy and animated from playing with his son, but the smile immediately slipped from his face as he saw who was at the door. Carefully he put Jeremy back on his feet as he stared down the woman he'd once loved.

"Ross," She sighed, forgetting her manners and stepping passed Demelza into the house. Obvious relief washing over her before being taken over by a look of guilt and hurt as she saw that Ross was not nearly as relieved or excited to see her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, another cliff hanger. But it's going to be a good one I swear!
> 
> Starting in the next chapter I will be begining all the chapters with a little flashback from over the past four years. Usually, they'll be about Ross and his time in Australia, but there will most likely be a few about Demelza as well. I also won't guarantee that they will be in any particular order but I will try to stick as close the correct timeline as possible.


End file.
